File 1.1: Cypress
"Cypress, I'm so sorry."
The word drops like a sun made of glass, light disappearing from her eyes, a rush of heat flooding over her, burning her from the outside in, then going out forever. Infertile. Only twenty-one, and already too old to be a part of the program; already not worthy of being a woman in the last damned city on Earth. This was her only chance. To quote the men in charge, "The city can't afford to waste resources on people who have no chance of producing results." Cypress shifts where she sits atop the hard table in her slim blue jeans with rips at the knees and folds her thin hands inside the kangaroo pouch of her thick sweatshirt while her chin flutters enough to make her perfect clattering teeth mimic the imperfect sound of her racing heartbeat. Beneath her, the thin paper meant to protect the next patient from any sicknesses she might spread crinkled. Dr. Regina shivers slightly at the sound. You'd think telling the patient the bad news would've been the hard part, but not for her.
The doctor relaxes her jaw to stop her own grinding teeth and continues, "But there is some good news."
Cypress' hunched shoulders, which create the illusion she is a crushed can made smaller by the doctor's hand, make it obvious she doesn't believe it.
The doctor doesn't bother to look at her, so she continues undeterred while scribbling something with her bright pink pen. "I'm going to recommend you for a very prestigious position. I think you'd be a perfect fit." She hands out a small square of paper as if handing over a scribbled prescription. "Go to this address and don't be late."
Cypress holds the note in front of her between two well-bitten fingernails; her shaking hand doesn't make the scribbled note any more legible. She nods, squeaks a feeble, "Thanks, but it doesn't say a time." Just before Dr. Regina's white lab coat can escape out the door, Cypress finds her voice. "What makes me a perfect fit?"
"For what?" She's already moved on to thinking about the next patient.
Cypress holds up the note, points at it.
"Oh, that. Sorry, busy day. Let's just say," she glances at the younger woman's ripped jeans atop the wrinkled paper, "I think you've got the right genes."
The door closes, but the doctor can still be heard behind the thin wooden door. "Why is there paper in that room? I thought I made myself clear we were to replace it with fabric."
Someone mumbles in the distance, sounding like Charlie Brown's teacher.
"Then wash them. Does it really take a doctor to come up with that solution?"
Cypress drops from the table; the paper sticks to her hand and follows her halfway to the floor before dropping free. She grabs her black leather coat, throws it over her gray sweatshirt and heads for the elevators. As she scurries past the front desk where most of the nurses gossip more than they work, she can feel them watching her, judging her for her diagnosis. She flips the hood of her sweatshirt up and looks at the tight laces of her black boots until the elevator doors close, silencing the whispers that began before she even had both feet inside.
She collapses onto the sterilized metal floor. The blinking red light in the corner reminds her she isn't alone—I'm always watching. She looks at the floor and rubs her tears away with the backs of her hands, then takes a deep breath and pulls her hood back to run a hand through her dyed-blonde hair and tie it into a messy bun that somehow looks as if she spent an entire morning getting it just right. She lets her breath out in broken streams just before the sound of a ding makes her jump to her feet as the doors begin to open. Her forced confidence doesn't last long, a bubbly classmate from the University bounces straight for her as if she was waiting. "How'd it go?"
Cypress drops her head almost imperceptibly as she lies to spare herself from the pain of speaking the truth. "Good! They scheduled me for Friday morning."
Her classmate hugs her, "That's great, Cy."
Cypress smiles. "Thanks, Syd, I've got a class to get to. Save me a seat in OM tomorrow?"
While the girl nods sympathetically, as if she understands the truth, Cypress speeds up her walk towards the revolving glass doors of the hotel turned fertilization clinic. Behind her, Sydney whispers the news to the group of women that have swarmed her. Their disbelief, shown by their saddened faces and at least one hand over a heart as if it's aching, chases behind her. Through the spinning doors, the cool air slaps her in the face. She throws her hood back up, ruining the perfectly messy bun just to leave her stinging face still exposed.
…
Having tied her kayak to a half-submerged street sign—which she repeats the name of three times out loud to make sure to remember where she parked…Canal Street, Canal Street, Canal Street—she looks back at the paper in her hand as if to say, 'This can't be the right place, I didn't think address numbers went this low.' The number (1) on the wall claims she's in the right place. In the front of the glass building, vehicles of all types—kayaks, rowboats, small motorboats—are bobbing and bumping into one another with hard thuds in their parking spaces. She crumples the paper into a ball and puts it into the pocket of her gray ski pants that keep her dry from the spits of water that are unavoidable when paddling over the roads and protect her only barely from the windchill. She takes an awkward step from the small boat she stands in up onto what was once a raised wall high above the sidewalk but has now become the only walking path not under water. She inches unsteadily towards the glass structure pointing from the water like a shark fin that is the front wall of the aquarium. As she gets closer, she spots the places where duct tape was used to patch cracks in the facade. She knocks just hard enough to make a sound. No one answers.
Cypress starts to walk around the side. A voice from above stops her, "You're late, the service has already started."
Looking around for the voice, Cypress' bright blue eyes finally find the woman leaning against the railing, smoking a cigarette on the roof. She yells up, her warm breath creating smoke of its own out of the cold air, "Dr. Regina told me you might have a position for me."
The woman squints down at Cypress as if studying her before replying, "Hm. She must like you—that's an impressive accomplishment to have on your resumé. You related or something?"
"No, she's just my doctor." Noticing the woman is gone from the roof, Cypress continues to herself while the water covering the ground behind her shushes the rattling boats, "Well, she was."
The woman reappears at a window that has been converted into a door, "Talking to yourself, not a great sign." She holds out a limp hand, as if expecting Cypress to kiss the giant, but murky, smoke-stained diamond ring on it. "I'm Ana. What's your name?"
"Cypress."
Ana starts tapping her ring impatiently against the glass doorframe, "Full name."
"Cypress Martin."
Cypress doesn't notice the tapping ring has stopped and the woman has paused for longer than is normal. "Father was French, then?"
"I wouldn't know, I never met him. It's my mom's name."
"Of course it is. As a favor to her, I'll see you."
"You knew my mom?"
Ana turns and starts inside, "I meant as a favor to Dr. Regina. She does so much for us. Please, no more questions until I ask for them."
They walk inside in a rush, giving Cypress no choice but to only glance at the intricate paintings of half-naked women swimming in bodies of water, three-fourths naked statues and fountains of beautiful women made to look like saints—like Goddesses baptizing the world in water. Cypress starts to ask about the incense she smells burning but stops herself before she can make the mistake.
Once inside a too small office with a too large desk and chair, Ana's voice is rough from years of smoking cigarettes like the one still alight in her wrinkled hand, "Take your coat and those hideous pants off darling. Let's see what we're working with."
"Excuse me?" Cypress retorts in shock.
The older woman sighs, "Not great at following directions, are we? Relax, dear, I'm not asking you to get naked."
Unsure of herself, but left with no other option, Cypress takes off her coat then sits on the chair to remove her boots to make room for the ski pants to slide off. Now standing in her leggings and gray sweatshirt, while the low hum of water pipes inside the walls seem to vibrate the entire room, she folds her protective layer and places the pieces on the chair she barely got to sit in. She covers herself with hunched shoulders for the third time today, as if she is standing naked despite the clothing covering most of her skin.
Outside the room, the unmistakable, albeit muffled sound of a music presses into the door and slides beneath the thin crack at the bottom.
Ana stands, walks around her. "Hm. Certainly, more to you than was on the surface. Need to work on the confidence though." Her cold hands push Cypress' shoulders back, making her stand up straight, then starts to pull at the sweatshirt, tightening it in places in what she thinks is the least intrusive way possible to glimpse what is underneath.
Cypress' cheeks flush red as she struggles to fight the urge to cross her arms and legs. She shivers. Ana raises her eyebrows, saying she likes the potential of the unmolded piece of clay she has just received. "Can you swim?"
Cypress nods.
"Good answer. Any questions for me?"
"Is that music?"
"A beauty and a genius," Ana grumbles. "Is that a problem?"
Cypress shakes her head. "Two for two. Congratulations Ms. Genius."
Ana walks to her oversized chair, sets herself upon it as if afraid it won't hold her wispy frame, then writes something in what appears to be a ledger and reaches for a plastic rectangle which she uses to snub out the end of her shrunken cigarette. "You'll be in room 26." She hands the ash-stained keycard out. "First service is tomorrow morning at 9:00am. Don't be late again."
"But I have class at ten—" She stops herself when she sees Ana's eyebrows raise. Even the pipes in the walls have gone quiet, causing the lights to flicker long enough to be noticeable. Cypress continues, "Not a problem," but Ana continues staring behind raised brows and doesn't let go as Cypress takes the keycard in her fingers. "And thank you for this opportunity."
Ana releases the card, "Elevators are in the main lobby. The other girls are mid-shift, so you'll have some privacy while you settle in. But I'd hurry, they're off in an hour. Everybody's been gossiping about who the new Number 26 might be." For the first time, Ana shows some true emotion, though I can't decide if it's compassion or annoyance, "You've got impossibly big shoes to fill."
Cypress shuffles her wool-socks over the carpet, "Who was it before me?"
Ana scratches away at her ledger, ignoring the question and looking uncomfortable. Was that a drop of sweat that just dropped onto the paper she is looking down on? Cypress tries another, "Since I have the position, can you tell me what it involves, exactly?"
Ana gives a knowing half-smile, her gray eyes flashing suddenly blue as if this is the questions she has been waiting to hear and answering it is her favorite part of the job, "You're a Goddess now. A Goddess, in damp leggings and an oversized sweatshirt, who smells faintly of antiseptic mixed with too strong perfume that is not masking it the way she had hoped." She glances down, "Oh, yes, and wool socks that appear to have been stolen off my grandfather's corpse…may he continue to burn in Hell."
Cypresses' jaw drops open despite the insult. Smirking, Ana reaches out her ringed hand and lifts Cypress' chin up before it can hit the floor. There is a list of rules and expectations of a Goddess on the terminal in your room. You will be unable to begin until you've read them all. And I will know if you read them. From here on out, you will be expected to always act accordingly. No three strikes allowed for us; one slip up, and you're done. Understood?"
Cypress nods, enthusiastic and standing to her full 5'4" height for the first time today.
Ana looks at her slim golden watch, "I'd get moving if I were you. You now have less than an hour until the other girls are back."
End of File 1.1